Chapter 1#
Chapter 1#
The Painted Skin
When I do count the clock that tells the time,And see the brave day sunk in hideous night.
Sonnet 12, William Shakespeare
Please do not repost or retranslate.
( ၴႅၴ
Please do not repost or retranslate.
On the island, it always seemed to be raining. A train passed through the city, its neon tracks weaving around the high- and low-rises, disappearing into the distant fog.
It was nine in the evening. The noodle shop should have closed half an hour ago.
The shop was owned by a half-blind, half-deaf elderly woman. She leaned back in a recliner behind the counter, an old woollen blanket draped over her, listening to opera from a vinyl she’d picked up at a flea market. After yawning three times, she called out to her sixteen-year-old adopted grandson. The teen was bad at everything except cooking, which was barely good enough to keep the shabby shop afloat. “Walnut!Walnuuut!” she yelled. “What time is it? Hasn’t it reached closing time?”
Beside the counter, Walnut clutched the handle of a beat-up vacuum as he nervously eyed the corner booth where a lone customer was seated. After a pregnant pause, he choked out, “Um… No.”
“Then why am I so tired?” she grumbled.
No kidding, Walnut thought.At this hour, you’d already be on your second nap. But right now, he was too petrified to move, let alone do anything out of line. The customer didn’t look ferocious—far from that, he looked ordinary: wearing a greyish T-shirt with an overstretched collar, his stick-thin frame blending into the corner like a shadow. Walnut could take on two of him with his bare hands.
Rather, Walnut was terrified because he knew the customer. That man was even a neighbour of sorts, staying on the same floor of a tenement in the Lower District.
And this neighbour had died a week ago.
The last time Walnut saw him was from the doorway of 1716, cordoned off by police tape and flies. The body had been stuffed into a cadaver pouch, his few belongings already picked clean. The next day, his death was covered in a tiny, inconspicuous section ofThe Daily Rose—a newspaper everyone in the city read—with the briefest copy:Murder in a cheap flat in the Lower District. Killer at large!The rest of the page was dominated by a photo of a wealthy young man, Mr. Yu, who had spent a fortune at an auction to secure an antique emerald pocket watch. Even then, there wasn’t a single image of the watch, only a fleeting shot of his profile through the window of a sports car just before it sped away. His face was barely in focus, yet it filled the page.
Walnut had felt bad for his late neighbour, but now that said deceased was sitting in his shop, he didn’t even dare breathe.
“Lose a soul on the first day, call it back on the seventh. Keep calling, and on the hundredth day, it will return…”
As shaky as the warbling from the grungy gramophone, Walnut tottered to his neighbour. He should tell him that they were closing, but he ended up saying, “What would you like to order?”
His neighbour didn’t appear to recognise him, his eyes hidden beneath his fringe. “Nothing,” he said, his tone unsettling.
Then what are you doing here!Walnut pulled a long face.
Catching his silent groan, his neighbour added, “I’m waiting for someone. They’re almost here.”
Right on cue, the door jingled. Two soaking wet men slipped in, scrubbing the rain from their faces.
“You sure took your time! I told you we should’ve left earlier.”
“Who knew the rain would suddenly get so heavy? It’d been drizzling for days.”
“Ya think life is predictable? Now, great. An accident in the tunnel caused a traffic jam, and it’s flooded under the bridge again. We aren’t getting anywhere!”
Flooding again?Walnut looked at them. On the island, only one bridge was prone to flooding underneath, taking out many cars. It stood right beside the block he lived in. Out of the corner of his eye, his neighbour also looked up at them.
“Didn’t the priestess divine that a fearsome entity bars the way and all will go awry? Tough luck, let’s go some other day.”
“Some other day? I told you I think I dropped a button there. I’m…” The more hotheaded man cut off, scanning the shop before falling silent. The customer was out of sight in his corner booth, but there was still the boss and her grandson. “Never mind, food first.”
They sat at a nearby table, threw down a handful of coins, and ordered. “Two bowls of braised pork noodles.”
Walnut gave a start.
“What are you standing around for?” Hothead growled. “Step on it! We gotta go!”
“Coming right up.” Walnut grabbed the money and darted into the kitchen.
Scowling, Hothead split apart a pair of chopsticks. The table was rattling from his impatient leg-shaking when suddenly, he glimpsed a pair of worn-out sneakers. Someone had come up to them. A cold, clear voice rang out, “I hear you’re in a hurry. Where to? My house?”
“What do you mean your house—” Hothead looked up. “!!!”
They recognised him. One week ago, in a flat, they had ground their heel into that man’s cheek, trampling his face against the floor. They didn’t want to lay hands on that bawling, bloodied, and bruised mess, so they crushed his neck with a chair, sitting on it as they forced him to reveal where the valuables were hidden. Then they raised it and brought it down until he stopped moving.
How could the dead be standing there?! Skin crawling, Hothead shot to his feet and lashed out with a kick. “I killed you! Dead or alive—I can do it again!” He remembered snapping that scrawny man like a twig. A chair could break even the strongest bones; he wasn’t about to let any ghost haunt him.
Suddenly, bony hands caught Hothead’s and his friend’s heads, driving sharp nails into their scalps that dug towards their brains.
“AAAAH!” Hothead shrieked, andbang, their heads collided. Agony shot through him, and his friend’s blood splattered all over his face. He doubled over, trying to shield his head, but then he was lifted off the floor, forcing him to tip his head back—such a slender hand could actually lift him by his hair! Hothead got chills.
“The owner of this skin requested me to make you pay. Come on. Look at this face, and say what needs to be said.”
Hothead didn’t get what strange things he was going on about, and blood blurred his vision. He mumbled, “Fu—” but he couldn’t finish the curse before his head was knocked against his friend’s again. Blood spurted out.
“Try again.” That voice was stone cold.
Hothead coughed up blood along with a few chipped teeth, his face unrecognisable. “We were wrong. We shouldn’t have done that.”
“Too fake,” the man remarked, just as impassively as before.
Hothead’s arm was wrenched back, and with a sickening crack, his arm was dislocated. “AAAAH!” The scream was hoarse, almost breathless. “Sorry, sorry, sorry…” he repeated desperately. When his other arm was gripped, he practically screeched, “Please, I’m begging you…”
Those hands finally released him. He collapsed in his chair, wiped out from pain and fear. He was about to sigh in relief when the scrawny man approached from behind, nudging icy fingers beneath his chin. “I’ve always been quite picky. Your voice—” the man sounded even calmer “—it’s awful.”
Hothead’s bloodshot eyes goggled. Before he could put up a struggle,crack!He heard his neck being twisted.
And that was it.
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Walnut cranked the exhaust to its highest setting and tossed the wok as it roared overhead. He tipped the gravy over the noodles, then garnished them with a sprinkling of scallions. Holding the two bowls, he tilted his head to push through the kitchen curtain while stepping out, just in time to see his stick-thin neighbour snap the second guy’s neck.
Meanwhile, his grandma was out cold on the recliner, though god knows if it was from sleepiness or shock.
Walnut: “…………………”
His neighbour dumped the corpse with the nonchalance of throwing trash, opened a pack of wet wipes, and carefully cleaned his fingers. When every last drop of blood was wiped away, he morphed, shucking off that scrawny vessel like a second skin.
The lights flickered, plunging the shop into brief darkness. When they came back on, a different person stood there. He looked strikingly young, his raven hair styled in a half-up wolf cut. Dressed in what appeared to be a bespoke black suit, he looked polished and moneyed, cutting a trim figure. He tossed the wet wipe, then took out a pocket watch. The emeralds inlaid on the dial sparkled under the lights.
Walnut recalled the blurry photo that had taken up most of the page in last week’s newspaper, of Mr. Yu or something; the profile in the sports car coincided with the young man before him now. When Mr. Yu turned around, Walnut spotted a small skeletal creature perched on his right shoulder—bare bones, with no flesh at all. Dog or cat, he couldn’t tell.
“Meep.” The skeleton chirped and jumped down, its bones clattering. It extended its claws and lowered its skull to the corpses. As it began slurping, the corpses sagged, leaving nothing but skin and clothes.
Walnut’s eyes rolled back into his head, and his legs slowly gave out. While darkness crept over his vision, Mr. Yu vigilantly looked at a mirror and asked, “Is there a camera behind that mirror?”
Walnut replied, “No,” then his head lolled to the side, and he was out like a light.
“?” The skeleton cocked its skull to the side, confused.
But Mr. Yu walked straight towards the mirror. Up close, his height lent his scrutiny a lofty air. “Really?” He dubiously examined the mirror, then stared at it dead-centre before expressionlessly commenting, “Then why do I feel like I’m being watched?”
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The screen went dark. Instantly, the game lobby bustled with excitement. Three minutes remained before the official launch, yet the world chat was already on fire, glowing blue lines of text popping up as everyone talked over one another. Amidst those spamming, “All hail the character drop. That’s a real looker!” were snatches of other conversation.
— Did this dumb*** game finally get a design dept? Who were those uglies hopping around in the other promo vids?
— Testing the limits of your patience.
— Go designers! Whip the planners into shape!
— They can whip the engineers too for all I care.
— I give yall ten seconds to hand over that character’s full name!
— Wasn’t it on the vid? The Painted Skin: Yu Qing.
— Oh! No wonder he can change appearances so quickly.
— If I start spazzing out, will the devs release it now?
— Nope. Three minutes to go.
— How can 3 min feel so long!
— How can 2 min 56 seconds feel so long!
— How can 2 min 41 seconds feel so long!
— Bet your desperation has moved the game devs to tears.
— Am I doing it for them? I’m doing it for this hottie.
— I’m doing it for the money.
Rose Islandwas a VR game that fused cyberpunk and folklore. Neon skyscrapers and lantern-lit terraces could share the same frame, while wooden boats and flashy supercars could share the same riverbank. The background was messy, and the art direction was mediocre. Streets and alleys were crowded with mythological elements, dotted with small shrines consecrating different deities. The promotional videos alone covered twelve different ones, from the Night Roamer, the Lady of Abundance, and the Grim Reaper, to the Painted Skin. One video was released every week, killing time until this last one just before the launch, making onlookers suspect that the game developers were running out of content. Also, only a fraction of the explorable map was unlocked; everything else was shrouded in mist.
The sole reason the game was breaking records even before its launch was its high level of integration with reality. Players could earn real-life currency through quests, achievements, and items, as long as they managed to survive the dungeons. In other words, people could make money by playing the game.
Everybody figured there was no harm in checking out how it worked. And so millions turned up for the countdown.
— How can 13 seconds feel so long!
More blue text was still appearing in the chat. They were down to the final moments.
— 3.
— 2.
— 1.
Darkness descended. Then, fresh dialogue appeared before the players:
Welcome to Rose Island.
Here faith flourishes, and confusion creeps.
Venturing alone may be unwise. Those without blessings often perish.
Before setting forth, please select the deity you wish to worship.
t/n.Mu Su Li just dropped her latest novel after a long dry spell. Translation updates will depend on my availability and interest as the series progresses. Can’t promise any sort of regularity as I don’t have a backstock (obv) (and also that I’ll be insanely busy in may). Terms may change.
The opera lyrics reference asoul-summoning ritual.
The folklore explanation below is unofficial and comes from a jjwxc comment:
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Night Roamer(夜游神)
Domain: A deity that patrols the night, while the Day Roamer patrols the day.
Occupation: Observes humans after dark, logging the good and evil deeds. Reports to the heavenly and the underworld courts.
Symbolism: Even in darkness, the gods are watching. Be mindful even when alone.
Lady of Abundance(禄姑) –or could be made up
Domain: A toilet god, often associated with Zigu.
Occupation: Guarding the latrines, she is invoked for divining fortunes and for blessings upon the household.
Symbolism: Deified from among the weak and wronged, she embodies compassion for the vulnerable and humble folk devotion.
Grim Reaper(无常)
Domain: Death’s passage.
Occupation: At the end of life, escort spirits of the dead to the underworld.
Symbolism: Life and death are governed by fate, and good and evil are paid back in turn. The White and Black Guards respectively represent fortune and misfortune.
Painted Skin(画皮)
Domain: A malevolent entity that is neither god nor celestial being.
Occupation: Assumes a bewitching form to steal lives and hearts.
Symbolism: True beauty lies inward. Warns against lust, gullibility, and judging others by external appearances.